Spoken by Irene:

Wealthy folk call her Sarah, she is mistress to me
Mistress owns the big house, it looks toward the sea
The richest lady for miles, that's what people say
But they don't know my mistress, how her hands twitch and play

Why Sarah, that must be the most glorious dress around
My mistress would pretend to curtsy, her dress sweeping the ground
They don't see the agony that flashes from her eyes
Or hear her pacing her room and those agonising cries

I may not be lovely or always look my best
Yet I would rather be old Maggie, than my mistress
I love her most dearly, of that you can be sure
Her heart is like the snow in winter, so soft and so pure

Only I know her secret, why the poor wee dear
Many's the time as I brush her hair, I hold back a tear
When her noisy friends depart and the big house settles down
I warm her bed with a copper pan and lay out her night gown

As the last garments fall to the floor, her eyes dart to the mirror
Oh Maggie, I can't hide it any more, each day I grow thinner
This awful thing that gives me pain, is eating me away
Why mistress, I lie, you look the same as yesterday

Dear Maggie, what a friend you have been through the years
The day will come, it's not far off, you will shed no more tears
She must have guessed, for all that night the pain got worse
Gripping her hands, I mopped her brow, as silently I cursed

Weary though I was, I never left my mistress' side
Her hand relaxed, then grew cold, I knew that she had died
My mistress left me plenty, I need never work again
I own a little cottage, but things are not the same

Wealthy folk called you Sarah, but you are still mistress to me
There are new folk in the big house that looks toward the sea